Poems of Springtime: The sweet and bitter

 Poems of Springtime: The Sweet and Bitter

Dear Reader,

    I find myself thing two things when the month of spring comes to the stage of seasons: the sweet, and the bitter. Bitter, because the rising population of flora force my aching joints indoors as to not expire to the coming of pollen. Sweet, because I can finally buy in season cologne at the local hipster store, that only sells Cherry Blossom Flurry Mist this time of year. (You would not believe how hard it is to find cologne for machines. Most of the time I have to import it from Detroit.)

    Below are a few poems that look onto these themes, and how it affects their day-to-day lives. I hope you enjoy them, or at the very least they give you solace, from one soul to another. 

As always, best wishes!

-Magic Typewriter

Where did You Go? 

By Tessa Zucker 

Their never-ending laughter echoes through your mind.

The smiles they made from ear to ear as soon as you walked in.

Being in their arms made you feel warm, like cozying up next to the fire.

They cheered for your highs and comforted your lows. 

You'll never forget the weight of their palm on your back pushing forward.

Smelling their hand lotion when they brushed the loose hairs out of your eyes.

Playing endless games together which you never won by pure chance.

Teaching you things that you will never find in a book. 

Then, that moment when they became a “was” instead of an “is”?

Why did they leave when you needed them most?

A person dies twice, once in your lifetime and the other in your memories 

There was nothing you could have done.

You were my pillar and I was yours.

Everything we were has been reduced to crumbs.

I am losing you slowly; my memories are fading.

Now that you have left me, what I love is intangible.

Ode to Indochine By Jada Ball Every month (twice if we’re greedy) My twin sister and I Walk for thirty minutes And back To our favorite restaurant: Indochine. This place of delight– That serves Thai and Vietnamese cuisine– Looks like it comes from another continent. From the koi pond in the back, Bungalow #7, a miniature store of treasure troves on the side, To the multiple buddhas inside, This eatery– no. Palace, is a place of refuge, For two lost souls trying to find their way In the wilderness of a future unknown. It has everything we need: Umbrellas from Vietnam, Glittering jewelry for family and ourselves alike, Food that’s so plentiful it’s mandatory to take leftovers, An excuse to spend money, And a tradition to call ours When there is none left at home. This monthly ritual gives me a sense of power, To a girl who doesn’t own a car, Whose life was turned upside down for the third time in her life, By parents who couldn’t see eye to eye every time. At least she has this: The laughter of her twin, The scent of Yum-Yum chicken, The sweet taste of the Coconut Cake and Ice Cream made locally, And the contentment of choosing, of controlling– her life. Soon, I won’t be within walking distance of this little patch of heaven. I’ll be higher in the mountains, piecing together my shattered life before college. But I’ll always have the memories, the satisfaction, and joy of Indochine.

Christmas Eve By Alistor Geroge (Editor’s Note: There is a mention of thoughts on suicide in the following poem.) A dreary night A candle alight I've come to find A wish for less life One born without contempt Not entropy, more apathy Yet the die was rolled And life was chose Cursed to carry on (though not by my lack of effort) With such blood in my veins We could call it luck Or lack there of Shall i try? Only to be thwarted by those souls Who cannot mind their own Shall i attempt? Only to fail Via cowardice or incompetence? What can only be described As a casual suicide Above, bright so far apart The twinkling of lonely stars From so far way, they look connected But each alone feels neglected Floating alone in the dark void of space Gravity pulling at a glacial pace And by the time the stars meet and collide Life on earth will have long since died The candle light shines But blisters on my skin Leaving alabaster white With a stinging red stain Outside theres a canvas, A world of white The hollowness of a sombre night Footprints fade into the snow Like in memories I used to know Sledding down the yard To the neighbours old tree Hanging ornaments Walking to the creek Every gift so simple Every smile so bright Christmas dinner so happy With warmth in every bite So fond am I of memories Not but an echo inside me I can only hope in the winter mist That someone out there knows how to live I don't yearn for death But a renewal of life It all seems so stale Through the marching of time I wasn't in pursuit of a way to die I’ve just been looking for a place Where My spirits still alive And in such a bitter quest I’ve killed off that last part Stewing in what could’ve been Has festered my red heart

Bittersweet By Jenna Ball Bittersweet: The perfect oxymoron to describe this spring. Graduation is here, Sending salutations to all the schools I am fearful of attending. Because this year– How could it be May already?– Everything has become backwards. April has brought bright, Then sun dried flowers. Crumbling like old Parchment into the Streets. May has been holding off Its rain, botting it up inside, Until it flooded the parking lot of my workplace Yesterday. Ah, but bittersweet offered Me the greatest relief. There is nothing like getting soaked inside a raincoat. The late storm cleansed and renewed something inside me, A feeling I haven’t received since last fall: When my world toppled and Crashed around me. The fresh water woke me up, washed And combed my hair. It left with a sigh. It was helping a friend: Acknowledged the pain of Not being on time. It’s as if yesterday’s rain understood me. All it wanted was to meet life’s expectations. Yet those days are long behind me and that rain. The only way forward is to make every action Sweeter, Despite the bitter. One day, I’ll find a rainbow, That silver lining, The sweet, soft tones of a starry night sky. I’ve had it up to here With bitter. Toss me a piece of banana bread: Let’s make the last month of this spring fly In style, grace, and into that too sought after But hardly found taste of Sweet. Overrated, sure, but right as rain: Not ever gonna be beat.